Fresh Eyes
by BlackCatRunning
Summary: Through thick and thin, for better or for worse, Brief never left Panty's side. But when a harsh argument, maturity and sacrifice lead to bad blood between he and the sisters, the Angels might have second thoughts about his friendship. One in particular.
1. PROLOGUE: Brief Comes of Age

**A.N: While I kind of dislike the show, Brief is probably the most ADORABLE little victim of unrequited love I've ever seen! SERIOUSLY! GO WATCH EPISODE 12, if you haven't yet ^_^.. He's just too cute 3. He deserves better than stupid old Panty xD.**

**Anyway, I wanted to try my hand at writing some kind of angsty fic about him (which is going to turn out cheesy, since _Panty__and__Stocking_ is about the most UN-angsty show ever lol. I think this is going to take place in a universe after the whole Hell's Monkey thing, but before Stocking pulls her deus ex machina and shocks the entire fanbase xD. So I'm going to take a few creative liberties here to make the show more dramatic. If you don't like drama, you might not like this ^^'**

**So, SPOILER ALERT—watch the first season, people!**

_**Fresh Eyes**_

Summary: Brief's loved her since the moment he saw her—no joke. Through thick and thin, for better or for worse, he never left her side. But when a harsh argument, maturity and sacrifice lead to bad blood between he and the sisters, the Angels might have second thoughts about his friendship. Especially one Angel in particular.

WARNING: If you haven't seen the series, and want to read anyway, the whole show is one big censor bar. So look out below xD

PROLOGUE: Brief Comes of Age

757 days. That was exactly how long it had been since Panty had sex with him. 757 days. Briefers Rock was convinced he would never forget it. It had been unorthodox and terrifying, mostly because they were getting it on at the edge of Hell's Gate. That, and they had been sword-slashed about 100-feet vertical by Stocking. At least he could brag he lost his virginity in mid-air, making love to an angel. Nobody else could say that.

But things locked back into normal-mode as soon as they landed. The sex was done, Panty was no longer a virgin, Hell's Gate was destroyed…and the sisters went back to treating him like the annoying, occult pest that just couldn't leave them alone. The first few weeks after the ordeal, Brief felt cozier with Panty than he ever had before. He stuttered less, reached for her hand once or twice…She had made him believe he had a right to do such things—that she was okay with it. Apparently not.

Two years later, and not so much as a spark between them. Panty called him by his name when she needed to, and refrained from using "Geek Boy," unless she was trying to be a bitch. However, there was no kissing, no hugging, and certainly no sex between them. Panty went on banging every male with a pulse and Stocking kept scolding her about it, and that was that. Brief was sure Panty had forgotten all about their night in the small shack, at the mercy of her virginity and his slick hair. It never occurred to him at the time, but he was sure by now that she had just given him sex because of his face. It was a disheartening thought.

Presently, Brief sat in his desk in the loser's classroom, sighing slowly through his nose as he watched the board. He wasn't really staring _at_ it, but rather_through_ it. His mind just wasn't in it today. He was a senior this year, and his father was constantly nagging him about taking over the Rock Family business. "I'm grooming you for success!" his father would yell from his office down the hall, his voice trying to top Brief's classic rock CD's. "You should be thanking me!"

His eighteenth birthday was the coming weekend, and he decided that he would get himself a haircut. Brief still wore his scruffy, orange bangs over his eyes; he didn't show many people his face. He was shy, and hated attracting unnecessary attention. That, and he was frankly too lazy to slick his hair back all the time. But his father had nagged him enough about "disgracing the Rock-Family beauty" by keeping it a secret. After the wedding-ordeal with Scanty, he couldn't bring himself to disappoint his father over something as meaningless as his hair. So, he would cut it. It didn't matter.

Over the last two years, Brief had mellowed with age. Day by day, he grew less naïve about the world, and more interested in his future. His shyness and bumbling endearments were ever-present, but his childishness slowly melted into a jaded maturity, like a snowman left out in a rising sun. Dreams faded—interests shifted.

Ever since he had met Panty, he had wanted her to be a part of his future—she and he, ghost hunters, out to protect the world. After snatching her virginity, he was certain it would happen. Of course, Panty wasted no time disappointing him. She laughed in his face at the thought of marriage, even after he assured her that they had already united themselves. That made her laugh harder.

"If I married every guy I fucked, I'd be married to over a thousand men, you idiot!"

And of course, in return he told her, "You're so mean, Panty. But I still love you." Like always. Like he always said. But how long could he continue telling her that? Forever? He rubbed his forehead, sighing again. His heart ached, his head hurt. He loved Panty, but she would never love him back. She was an angel, meant to return to heaven when it would finally have her back-.. It would never have worked anyway, would it?

His eyebrows drew down, face forming a frown—not that anyone would see it anyway. It was settled. He would tell her today. He hadn't been by the church in a while now, a good month, but he would go today. Demand she take him now and forever, or at least promise to do so eventually, or he was moving on.

He could do it. He could say it to her. Brief's hands balled up into fists on the surface of his desk. He would bring flowers, and chocolate, and even get his hair cut early, just for her. His chest ballooned with a soft, but full breath. Yes, that's exactly what he would do. Today.

Today.

**AN: Ne? Was it bad? xDDDD. I'm writing this for fun, and because I'm suffering from Brief-fangasms. So hopefully someone else will enjoy it ;D**


	2. Not Yet a Man

**AN: I forgot to mention before—I LOVE REVIEWS! Good or bad, all are accepted, encouraged, and appreciated ^_^.. Please leave one if you have the time, folks ;D**

1. Not Yet a Man

"If I told you once, you little whore, I told you a thousand times!" Panty flung her plastic dinner bowl to the ground, as if it would shatter. Its contents spattered in clumps across the hardwood. "I don't want fucking miso-soup for lunch!"

Stocking's fists trembled ever so slightly as some of the soup splashed onto her skirt. She kept her head down, bangs over her big blue eyes. "Maybe if you would come to the grocery store with me, I would pick out things you liked."

Her hands were fiddling around behind her, searching for Chuck, so she could pound Panty's head in with him. Panty herself was already strutting away, however, back to her sister. "Honestly," she said, her tone lofty and dismissive. "You're a half-assed cook anyway. Why do you even bother?"

Panty stumbled forward a few feet when something cracked against the back of her head. Stocking found Chuck. The blonde swiveled with a growl, eyes slit.

"You're just sore because you can't cook at all. The only thing you're good at is fucking."

Panty could only glare; Stocking glared back. It was a grey afternoon on a Tuesday—a typical December day in Daten City. The air was so crisp you could break in half and dip it in coffee, and the clouds were heavy with a possible snow. There was a wind with no whistle that would occasionally rattle the church windows; it was deeply cold, but not wet outside. The whole world seemed mute when the sisters took a moment to stop quarrelling. Somehow, in light of the coming Christmas and cold weather, Panty just scoffed.

"Whatever," she said, wandering into the living room area. She kept her hands laced behind her head, walking with that airy, model mentality she always did. "You have a terrible sense of taste, so I guess you can't help it."

That's when she heard a knock at the door. Panty's eyes flicked to the window, noting what must have been a freezing temperature. The inside of the church was toasty warm, so Panty was wearing only a bra and underwear, both of black and red lace.

"Ugh," she groaned, leaning on the door. Her voice was lazy. "Who's there?"

"P-P-P-Pantyyyyyy!"

Panty rolled her eyes skyward. Anyone could guess who _that_ was. "Brief," she said, glancing over at Stocking as she peeked into from the doorway. "What do you want?"

There was a moment of silence, and then a soft, shaky breath. An inhale. "C-C-C-Could you p-p-please let m-me ins-s-s-side?" Panty couldn't decide if he was stuttering because he always stuttered, or because he was cold. "It's f-f-f-freezing out h-h-h…" He paused, to steady himself. "Here!" Then he made one of those, "uwaaa!" noises he loves to make.

Panty and Stocking met eyes, and then both of them grinned. This was the boy who followed them everywhere, ran after their car when they left him behind, tried to buy Panty's underwear online and even went so far as to collect her boogers. He was gullible, and incredibly devoted—almost pathetically so. Fun at his expense was cheap, dirty and had replay value—just how Panty liked it. And no matter how far the pushed him, he always crawled back. A never-ending cycle of entertainment.

The blonde stretched her back against the door, arms above her head as she made a contented noise at the back of her throat. "How long have you been out there, ne?" Stocking joined her, bringing along a cup of vanilla pudding. She took it spoonful by spoonful, cooing at the taste of each one.

"N-N-Not that l-long," he said, voice muffled beyond the door. He was always patient and tolerant of her, but his tone was strained. He wanted to come inside. "P-P-Please, P-Panty.. I-It's cold."

"Don't you wear a coat?" Stocking asked around a mouthful of sweets. "Or do you only wear that stupid jumpsuit?"

"Oh, yeah!" Panty said, starting to giggle. Her red nails found her lips, resting there as she shook a bit from laughter. "That damn ugly thing! Does it keep your member warm, geek boy?"

Brief made another signature noise. "Awwuaa~! P-P-Pantyyy!" She heard him shudder. "Don't ask things l-l-like that-!"

It was Panty's turn to sigh as she turned away from the door. "You see? This is why we only fucked once, Brief," she said with a wave of her hand, as if shooing him from the premises. "You may have a penis the size of a stove pipe, but you're no man."

Stocking listened to Brief as he pleaded with Panty, he having noticed that her voice was fading, that she was walking away. Through his stuttering, he mentioned something about gifts, but it fell on deaf ears. After Panty's door slammed into its jam, Stocking padded away into the kitchen, leaving Brief stuck on the porch.

Outside, Brief held tight to himself, his bag of dried jalapeño peppers, his box of chocolates, and his bouquet. His knees rattled together as he stood pigeon-toed, hunched against the cold. His jumpsuit would have been toasty-warm on a day like this, but he hadn't worn it. Instead, he wore the "coolest" set of clothes he had: a faded pair of jeans with holes at the knees, and a T-shirt two sizes too small with the words "Come Quick!" on it. He also wore a baseball cap with a wide brim pulled down over his eyes, to hide his new haircut, which he didn't like. While dressing, Brief had gotten so flushed while thinking about Panty's reaction to his hair (and Panty's last reaction to his face, two years ago) that he had burned up when wearing a coat. So he left it at home. The first few minutes outside weren't so bad, but as he got less agitated, the goose bumps appeared. Before long, he was shuddering so much he could hardly form a sentence.

As a chilly wind fluttered against the back of his neck, Brief snapped forward with a sneeze. He managed to keep himself from spraying the presents, but didn't have a spare hand to wipe his nose. He sniffled once, then twice for good measure.

"P-P-P-Panty-! St-t-tocking-!" He kicked at the door with his beat-up tennis shoe. "Open up-p!" He was going to say more, but the cold took his breath away. He made a shaky noise, sounding much like he did when he was at the mercy of a clothes-less Panty. "I h-h-h-have p-presents!"

Brief hoped it would draw their attention, but he heard no noise from inside. Honestly, how could they treat him like this? After two years, following them around, practically worshipping them and they _still_ leave him standing outside like an idiot? He thought he would have earned their respect or something, by now. Apparently not.

"G-… G-…. Girls-!" He stood as straight as his body aloud, since he was losing heat faster by staying open. His voice cracked, and he coughed once or twice. His voice had started changing last month, and it still fluctuated between his scratchy kid voice and his developing deeper tone. Perhaps due to the seriousness of the moment, it dropped an octave. "L-Let me in!"

Stocking paused as she munched on a forkful of cake. She had been walking out of the kitchen, back to her room, when she heard the voice. Could it be?... No, of course not. Geek Boy was just a little pest, a kid. Tossing her dark hair across a shoulder, huddled in her fuzzy socks and house-robe, she listened again.

"I s-s-s-said," the voice repeated, shaking but stern. "I w-w-want to c-come in!" It cracked on the fourth word, shooting up in pitch to the falsetto she knew so well. Starting to frown, Stocking walked, then power-walked for the door and yanked it open. Her plate of cake clattered to the floor.

"B-B-…" She stepped back from him, searching his face. "Geek Boy?"

**AN: Uwaaaaa~! I wish a bishie Brief were real x3.. Please, excuse my hapless fangirling xD. Oh, and if any of them are OOC (within reason, since this fic is kind of in the future a bit) mind giving me some advice? ;)**


	3. Matured

**AN: All right, here's the next part. Let me know what you guys think of Brief ^_^ xDD**

2. Matured

The Brief in front of her was not the boy Stocking could have ever remembered. Not ever. For one thing, she had to look up to meet his eyes—eyes she had never seen before. Like green stones, glinting in the electric air, firm and penetrating. He was taller than her, his limbs not pumped with muscle, but certainly heavy enough to hold her down. He could tie her up in those legs of his. The brim of his hat bobbed as he flinched downward, sneezing again, containing the seizure in the back of his throat so he wouldn't get anything on her. With a tentative, slow hand, Stocking reached up and gently took the hat off.

The shadow across his face peeled back, revealing his alabaster skin—the little freckles across his cheeks and nose. His bright orange hair was shorter now, but still as fluffy and with its tendency to curl at the ends, a little bit. It hung around his forehead. He shivered, clutching his gifts, sniffling. His eyes softened, the hardness melting away.

"Yeah," he said, voice deep and soft. "It's me."

Stocking stepped back from him, flinching. Had he always been this grown-up? Had he always been this-… cute? She didn't want to think about it. Her sharpened nails dug into his chest a little as she snatched him by the collar, yanking him inside, and then slamming the door. She shuddered a little herself from the cold air that had gotten inside, and then tossed Breif's hat onto the couch.

"Geez," she muttered, stooping down to scoop up the mess of cake on the ground. "You useless humans are so weak. A little chilly air, and you're already sick."

"I'm n-n-not s-sick," he said, breathless. The rush of warm air worked through his body from the outside in, making him shake. He thrust the box of chocolates out towards Stocking, having to bend his knees a little to get closer to her, since she was on the floor. "H-H-Here.."

Stocking blinked over, and immediately brightened at the sight of the familiar box. She knew what a box of sweet goodness looked like. She snatched it, forgetting all about the cake, mewling to herself as she held it to her chest. Then her blue eyes fluttered towards him, almost suspicious.

"What's this for?"

Brief shrugged off-handedly, torn between looking cold, relieved and a little embarrassed. His eyes, so green and so bright—such a new sight for Stocking—fogged over like warmed glass. He brought his arm up to catch yet another sneeze, which he allowed to escape with full force. The strength of it bent him at the waist, the sound resembling something of a snarl. It made Stocking jump, clutching her chocolate. Sighing when finished, he straightened back to his normal height, gesturing as he scrubbed at his nose with the cuff of a sleeve.

"It w-would be rude to g-give gifts to Panty," he said, sniffling once, "and n-not get you anything. I th-thought you liked ch-ch-…" He paused, taking a shaky breath. "Chocolate."

Stocking was callous, practical, and often disinterested in human affairs. But she was not as much of a heartless bitch as her sister was. She fisted a handful of Brief's shirt front, and yanked him into the kitchen; she shoved him into a kitchen chair. As expected, even if he was older now, he made one of his trademark "uwaaa's!"

"S-S-Stocking-!" He fiddled with the flowers and the bag of goodies, making sure he didn't crush either when sitting down. His nose was running from the change in temperature, and feeling of discharge kept making his nose itch. Sniffling again, cutting his eyes, he turned to shove the gifts onto the table before another sneeze could sneak up on him.

Stocking, still in her housecoat and slippers, was busying herself with some hot marshmallow-chocolate brownie cocoa. It was the sweetest brand she could find, and she liked the taste of it on her tongue. It was rather smooth on the throat as well. It would warm the human up, hopefully.

She would peek at him through the curtains of her dark hair over her shoulder, sizing him up. When did he get so mature? They had seen him regularly over the past few years, but perhaps they hadn't been _looking_ for it. The change had been gradual, and the bouts of "deep voice" were very, very recent. Perhaps it was the hair that prompted her to notice such a dramatic change.

The dark-haired angel watched as he slowly brought his hands to his face, cupping them over his nose and mouth. The sneeze attacked promptly, albeit rather violently, and he stayed in a hunched position for a moment afterward. Even as he sat up, he kept his hands to his face, cheeks blinking pink. His green eyes darted around the room—searching. With a slight smirk, Stocking realized what he was looking for.

"Runny nose?" she asked, stirring the cocoa as she mixed in the powder. His resultant squeak made her grin a bit wider. She nodded towards the drawer to her left. "Napkins in there. I hide them from Panty. Otherwise, she'd waste them all."

Brief stood, body a little stiff. Embarrassed, awkward. He seemed like he wanted to hide, but couldn't anymore. His orange curtain of bangs was gone—no more hiding behind them now. Keeping one hand cupped over his face, he pulled open the drawer with the other, plucking a few napkins off the stack. He turned his back on her to be polite—probably would have left the room if he didn't think it was rude—and started blowing his nose. While he was preoccupied, Stocking set down her spoon with a clink and moved to stand behind him. She reached around and pasted a hand on his forehead. The teen's breath caught, making him snort into the tissue, and Stocking giggled once under her breath. He wasn't her type, this boy. But he was charming, in a way. She could see that now.

"Why didn't you wear a coat?" She kept her fingers on his brow. He felt warm, but maybe that was because his body was heating him up from the cold weather. Or maybe he was embarrassed. It was hard to tell if it was a true fever.

Brief didn't move either. He swallowed once, his growing Adam's Apple lowering and rising again. His hands shook just a little, viced around his used tissues, which he still held to his nose. Her touch kept him frozen.

He wished, though, it was Panty's hand upon his brow…asking him if he was all right…smiling at him. Stocking was a woman, and he was a puberty-stricken boy, so the contact was bound to paralyze him. But if it had been Panty? It would have been Hell's Gate all over again. He knew he was a late bloomer in the development area. He had always been late to everything—puberty and manhood was no different. He had lost his virginity before his voice changed, however. He had been quite early for that.

"I…" Brief paused, keeping his voice steady. It cracked anyway, and dropped. "I wanted to look good today."

Stocking moved her fingers to his right cheek. His skin was so soft, so flawless, and still radiating dim heat. Like warmed silk. "For Panty?"

It took a second for him to answer, but he did. "Yeah."

"Ah~" she said, and removed her hand from him entirely. Turning to the counter, she picked up the cocoa and walked around to face him. His green eyes were trained on the ground, tissues pasted to his face. She held the cup up in front of his eyes. "Would you like my cocoa? It's chocolate."

He reached for it with a nod and a sheepish "thank you," as he crumpled the tissue and stuffed it in his back pocket. They sat down together at the table, both silent. Stocking made no effort to mask her observation of him; Brief tried to conceal his ever-growing bashfulness. No one ever stared at him this much.

"Why did you cut your hair?" Stocking asked, swirling her cocoa around in her pink-polka-dot mug. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

Brief kept his legs pinched together, feet flat on the ground, hands laced around his coffee mug. It was purple, with a sheep on it. His face was incredibly expressive—something his bangs used to cover. He knew he wore his heart on his sleeve. Brief was a terrible liar. He cleared his throat, voice unstable in pitch.

"I-… I n-needed a change," he said.

"For Panty?"

"….Y-Yeah…"

"Ah~ I see."

Silence. Slight discomfort. Awkwardness.

"And the flowers?"

"F-…For P-Panty."

"The spicy shit?"

He sunk slowly in his chair, shoulders hunched. "P-Panty…"

Stocking took a sip from her mug, and her eyes were distant as she grew thoughtful. After gently placing the mug down, pinky extended, her eyebrows drew together. "Brief?"

He perked up, eyes darting to her. He shook his shallow bangs, still unaccustomed to their lack of weight. "Y-Yes?"

"Why did you come here?" Stocking laced her hands together. "What do you want with my bitchy, sloppy, slutty big sister?"

Sitting up in his chair, back straight, his voice rose in pitch but not in volume. "S-She's not any of those things!" Stocking squared him with a certain look, and he wilted a little. "W-Well," he amended. "Not to me."

"Oh?"

"Yeah!" he said, rubbing his upper-arms now, warming himself up in the heated sanctuary of the church. "I care about Panty. I'd marry her, if she would have me."

He didn't stutter that time. Stocking glared regardless. Panty, for one thing, had a job to do. A human like him would just get in her way. And if he interfered with Panty, he would interfere with Stocking, and that was unacceptable. Not to mention his penis was the key to Hell's Gate. That, and he was practically useless otherwise. This made him a walking, talking hostage—open to any adversary. On a smaller note, the whole "never-fall-in-love-when-you-save-the-world" thing was true; on the incredibly slim chance that Panty _did _actually fall for him (which was NOT about to happen), he would do nothing but cause them trouble. Panty would be more vulnerable, and therefore less effective. It was a lose-lose situation all around.

"She will never have you, Geek Boy," Stocking said, picking up her mug again, eyes closing as she sipped from it. "She's Panty."

Brief, who never seemed to get angry or ruffled by any of the Angel Sisters' torture against him, bristled a little. He was tired of people telling him that. He was tired of people making him believe he would never get anything he wanted. Most of all, he was tired of Panty being so immature. Couldn't she just grow up, for _one fucking minute_, and open her eyes? He loved her.

"People change," he said, clearing his throat. Holding himself in check. A young man being groomed for a CEO position did not lose his cool this early in the conversation.

"_People_ change, yes," Stocking said, nodding as she swallowed. "Angels? Not so often."

"Angels are people."

"No, they're not."

"Yes, they-"

"_I'm_ an angel. I would know."

"You don't know anything."

The tone was a little annoyed. Stocking's head snapped up as she stared at him, his expression. Brief had his head down, slouching in his seat, avoiding her eyes. While staring directly, it was very easy to see what he was feeling. The lack of bangs was a weakness for him. Stocking smirked. How fitting that Panty be the cause of it.

Like Sampson and Delilah. Maybe too similar.

"Oh, don't I?"

"My relationship with Panty is my business," he said, eyes floating from the salt shaker to his sheep-mug. He hurried into his next statement, like he had almost forgotten about it. "Th-That's all I m-mean…"

"Really?" Stocking leaned closer to him over the table. He shrunk back. "It that _really_ all you mean?" She would goad him into something, maybe. This older Brief was a lot less amusing than the other one. As Brief became severely interested in the patterns of floor tile, Panty strutted in, still in her underwear.

**AN: I ended it kind of abruptly. I have part of the next chapter already written, and this would have been too long if I hadn't split it up. Read and review, please :D**


	4. Confrontation

3. Confrontation

"Hey, Stocking!" Her blonde head turned lazily towards the table, where her sister was, when she noticed another other head of orange hair. Her eyes widened, then she grinned. "And Brief! Who let you inside?"

She wasn't angered by his presence; she seemed sadistically delighted, as if he might offer them some sort of improv-show in the next hour. As she rounded her table, her eyes fell on the flowers and jalapeno snacks. Panty snatched for the bag, ripping it open and shoveling the food in, testing the taste.

"Eh, not too bad," she said, mouth full. "Good choice, B-" After turning to stare at him, she choked a little on her chips, spiking the bag to the ground in her surprise. Panty did not like surprises. "What the hell!?"

Brief hunched a little, as if in defense. She didn't like it, did she? Was it the hair? The clothes? He hadn't spoken to her yet, but his voice wasn't so great either. She hated him. Oh, god, she hated him. Stocking just sipped at her cocoa, enjoying the display. Her sister was no fun to argue with, but quite fun to watch when she argued with someone else.

Panty snatched a handful of his hair, yanking at it. "What did you do?! Is this some kind of plea for attention?!" She caught eye of his clothes, eyes widening. "And where did you get clothes like these? Fucking thrift store!? I didn't know you _owned_ anything besides that damn jumpsuit!"

He grew smaller by the minute, sinking internally as he slumped in his seat. He wanted to disappear. She hated it. Panty hated it. Last time she saw his face, she jumped his bones-…why did she have-? Why did-?

"Why do you have to be such a bitch!?"

Then, silence again.

It was _not_ supposed to come out of his mouth. And it was_ not_ supposed to be said in his brand new baritone, still fluxing on every word. Too late now, dammit. Brief slammed his hands onto the table, shaking the mugs and their contents.

"I m-mean…y-you know…" He paused, taking a second to collect himself. "I mean, I _love_ you, Panty.."

After his outburst, both sisters were in shock, staring at him. When his front gave way to sensitivity, Panty was the first to recover and retaliate, like always. He felt her hand slam across his face before he heard it. It knocked him back, a little.

"Fucking _dick!_" She was surprised, that was all. People called her a bitch all the time. This was Brief's first time, though. It was somehow-…unwelcome. "_All_ men love me! _ALL MEN!"_

Brief stood up, his chair tumbling backwards and clattering to the ground. Panty stumbled back from him, because his height took her off guard. He was so tall-… his eyes were so bright…His body-… Blue eyes skirted along his waistline and pelvic region.

"No, Panty, they _don't_," he growled. She was so blind. He had cut the hair that hung in front of his eyes, but his vision had never been cloudy in the first place. "You're beautiful, and you're easy." He turned to look at her, green eyes smoldering. "They just w-want to get-…get-…"

He faltered again, and Panty was able to collect herself. "Get in my _pants?_" She finished it for him. Brief let out a puff of air, hanging his head. Stocking started collecting the mugs before someone ended up breaking them. "Do you want anything different!?"

"_YES!"_ He shook with the force of yelling it. "YES, Panty. Yes." He got quieter the more he said it, as though he was winding down from a great height. Impulsively, he snatched her hands, eliciting an incensed widening of her eyes. Blue orbs—eyes that had only watched him in disdain and vague amusement (and only once in lust) were now very angry with him.

She started jerking, growling like a feral cat. "_Let go of me!"_

But he wouldn't. He didn't want to. There had to be some way, any way, to make her understand. One of her knees shot up towards his groin area, but he had expected that much, and managed to dodge. Panty screamed in frustration, not fear. Though his hands were so much bigger. His legs so much longer. Body so much taller. Her blue eyes spit at him, but watched him all the same. Curious, though she would never let him think so.

"It's Stocking who likes this bondage shit, you bastard!" Panty tried to kick at him again, managing to crack him quite a few times in his shins. Brief grit his teeth and danced around a little, but still wouldn't let go of her. "I'm not in the mood, so fuck off!"

Stocking had considered stepping in to aid her sister, but the bondage comment squashed the impulse. She had the mugs in the sink, running warm water through them, listening to them shout behind her. The conflict in the air was nothing new to any of them, so no one seemed eager to diffuse it. Better to let the heaviness hang there and simmer—better to let it hover.

"It's not f-fair, you know," he said quietly, wrestling with her on the ground. They had their legs tangled together, each fighting to pin the other down. Both wanted to be on top. For the first time in his life, Brief won. He slammed Panty against the tile, hands holding her wrists. His eyes were green liquid, melting over his lower lids. "It's not fair for you to treat me this way!"

Panty kicked and kicked, and realized it was too late for her to kill the bastard, since she couldn't get her underwear off without a spare hand. She swore mentally at her useless sister, who wouldn't have helped her if she was dying, most likely. Well, scratch that. Maybe she would have helped, but right now she was probably enjoying herself too much to soar in to aid.

"Treat you _what_ way, idiot?" She managed to knee him square in the groin. Due to its impressive size, it was already hard to miss, and it would only get bigger with puberty. So, needless to say, it was an effective deterrent vice-grip on her arms. He cupped his package, rolling over her slowly, eyes huge. Mouth open in a silent scream. Panty smashed a foot on his cheek, holding him down. "Just what do I do to you that's so bad?!"

He couldn't answer her, debilitated, in pain once again. Always in pain. She hit him everywhere, with all she had, all the time. Her fists, her words, her body, her teasing affection-… A young man could only take so much disappointment. Brief had never thought badly of her—had _worshipped_ her—but what was he to do when, after all this time, she couldn't spare him more than one glance and a snide comment? When he didn't answer, Panty reached down and snatched him by the hair, dragging him towards the door.

"That's what I thought," she growled under her breath. Stocking watched from the counter, rubbing a fuzzy towel along the edge of a damp cup. Panty was still ruffled from all that he had said to her. "Fucking useless piece of shit-…"

Brief found himself suddenly cold. Outside again. He sat up with his hands still cupping his package, the back of his pants starting to soak as they pressed into the cold, wet concrete. His green eyes were bright with rage, despair… longing, and hopelessness. Maybe this was how it ended with her. This was the answer…

They weren't meant to be.

**ps. Okay, friends! THAT TOOK FOREVER TO UPDATE OMGH xDDD. I might add onto this, but for the moment, it's going to be barren for a while. Let me get some more inspiration on it. I definitely don't want to end it as crappily as I did just now x'D**


	5. Moving On

**A/N: Yeah, so.. guess I'm still working on this? x'DDD LOL. Warning: this might start to get dicey for you Panty x Brief shippers out there. So if you aren't so keen on other ships, you might want to step out now before I start ruining things for you ^^''.. This chapter is a bit short, but I'll try to keep cranking them out~**

4. Moving On

Stocking had been right about a few things, and he wished he had listened to her:

1) Angels were not human. They were less compassionate, and liable to stab you in the back. Angels weren't even angels-.. Not the version he had learned about, anyway.

2) He was stupid for chasing Panty so long. Naïve. Brief found himself so disgusted now with his dream. How could he have let her step on him for so long? Gone through so much for her, without a reward? She had never once been nice to him, unless it was in her damn favor. He could see that now. His bangs were gone, and they made life so much clearer.

3) Humans really were as weak as Stocking said they were. He was broken-hearted and crippled from the entire afternoon at the church the other day. Not only that, but the walk home had given him a raging head cold, which kept his nose running and head full and aching. He blamed it all on Panty.

Final exams, some of the most important of his life, were rushing over his head like a massive tide. He needed to do well to get into a good college, to prove his worth to his father so he could inherit the stupid business. They started after the weekend, which was fast approaching. He felt too sick to do anything but stare at his desk, arms crossed, wishing again and again he had his bangs so he could hide his sad face and close his eyes without being fussed at for dozing. The teacher droned—a mosquito in the back of his mind. His nose was runny, and he had to keep sniffling, which eventually made him self-conscious enough to excuse himself to the bathroom. The teacher was miffed that he had to leave in the middle of her lecture, but it couldn't be helped. Brief needed to get out of there for other reasons too.

Panty was in that class with him, and she was sitting to the far left, in the back. Her feet were up on the desk, eyes closed, breath softly snoring. Blatantly asleep, but she didn't get caught. The teacher had probably come to expect it by now. Normally, he would be right next to or behind her, actively choosing to fail the class; once he found himself staring at Panty, there was no hope for his grades. But today he had chosen the right, the front, as far away as he could be. And thankfully right near the door for an easy escape.

Stocking, who was a few seats down from Panty, looked up from her notes. Watched him go.

In the boy's bathroom, he blew his nose as he stared into the mirror. Pale skin, lilac imprints beneath his eyes, hair a mess... He cared more about his appearance nowadays, since he had invested so much money into new clothes and hair. using his fingers, he tried to straighten out his orange, curly menace, but nothing seemed to help. Sighing, he bent down to the sink and washed his face a little to clear his head. Just a few more hours, and one more day in the bag.

He jumped, body flashing hot then cool, when he looked back up into the mirror and saw Stocking standing behind him. Brief spun around, hand over his chest, breath catching and continuing to whoosh back and forth in his lungs from the scare. For once, he hadn't made one of his classic "uwaaaaa's." When she only stood there, regarding him, it gave his heart a chance to slow. After all this time, he realized he was getting pretty sick of the sisters sneaking up on him. They tended to scare him a lot, whether on purpose or not. And after his intense rejection at the church, he didn't have much patience for either of them, to be honest.

"What?"

His tone surprised her, and Stocking blinked at his face, which wasn't frozen in an expression of terror or innocent confusion. Instead, he looked annoyed. That was rare for him. She could only assume the hormones were finally coming hard for him. The voice, the mood, the need to have Panty as a partner for real... It was the only explanation.

Wordlessly, she reached a hand up for his forehead to check his temperature, but recoiled in surprise when he blocked her, wrist to wrist, and side-stepped out of her reach. His discouragement was gentle, but also powerful. He never stood up to them before-...

"Don't touch me," he mumbled. It was a command. He _never_ spoke in commands. "You guys can't just do whatever you want with me anymore." They weren't really his friends, were they? Every outing they had together, he had forced himself along, and gotten tangled up in their plans. They didn't even think his life was of value. The only time he had been worth anything was for Hell's Gate, and when he actually stopped to think, he realized something that made his heart ache.

Panty made love to him to get her powers back. To break her virginity in pieces. Then she never spared a glance since. She didn't like him at all. He was just... serving a purpose. And that hurt him. So he was cold to them now-Panty more than Stocking. The purple haired angel had been right about everything, and it was humbling to accept it. That's probably the only reason he couldn't stand to be around her at the moment.

When she still didn't speak, and just stared at him with eyes squinted and head cocked, he cleared his throat and prompted her, "Did you need something?"

Stocking felt awkward. There was this weird urge to linger around him, and have him speak roughly to her again, but her better judgment reminded her that this was a troublesome human. Now that he was ignoring Panty, it was best to just leave him alone. Perhaps he would fade from their lives, and soon, it would be like he had never been there at all. Brief stood patiently as she ruminated on her thoughts, blinking tiredly. He was not longer keen on them as friends, but Brief wasn't a jerk. He wasn't rude.

"I was just..." Stocking began, averting her eyes. "Checking on you."

Brief raised his eyebrows, which were so perfect and orange and straight. They grazed a few stray bangs that weren't pushed back. He had been running his hands through his hair all day, probably from the stress.

"You're sick," she informed him.

That much he knew. Breathing in through his mouth, he nodded a few times. It wasn't really that bad, though. Just a cold. The only reason it was bad was because of the timing: finals and heartbreak.

"It's fine," he said, voice deep and low from his cold.

Now he felt awkward too. He and Stocking hardly had lengthy conversations alone, without Panty; here they were, twice in a week. It was just strange. A new experience, maybe. After another uncomfortable silence, he started to take steps for the door.

"Well, w-we should get back to class." He sounded more like himself with the stutter, but the voice was still too deep. Stocking wondered where the old Brief went, and if he was gone forever. "And th-this is the men's room, so... d-don't get caught."

And like that, he was gone. Stocking watched him go, again, hanging by the mirrors and then staring at herself. The light blush on her cheeks. No... no! She scrubbed at her face, making a soft, mewling noise. She couldn't let herself do this again. She had way too much to do to let herself fall into some bizarre infatuation. Especially not with a human. _Especially_ not with _Brief_.

Coming back into the classroom, she noted that Brief was back at his desk, half-heartedly attempting to take down notes. His pen scratched at his paper, but his eyelids drooped and hand slackened occasionally. Panty leaned over towards Stocking's desk, voice petulant.

"Where'd you sneak off to?"

Stocking just fixed her with a slight smile. "Nowhere special.."

Several hours later, after school and before daily angel duties, Stocking was utterly disgusted to find herself standing at the gate of the Rock Estate, holding a small sealed bowl of soup. How exactly she ended up there, she didn't know.


	6. Just a Visit

**A/N: Bwaaaah~! Update~! All the new followers have encouraged me to work! xDD. Special thanks to those of you who have been sticking around!**

5. Just a Visit

Brief never acted like he was rich, so walking up to such an impressive front door felt strange to Stocking. She kept scuffing her shoes against the walk, bundled up in her fuzziest purple coat, hood up, and hands mittened. The angel could feel the warmth of the soup permeate the fabric of her gloves, and it felt pleasant with the cold air pressing around her. It took a few minutes for her to work up the courage to knock, and she took several steps back from the door afterwards. She remembered how they had left Brief outside on the porch for so long; her heart, even though she tried to fight it, beat softly in shame.

The heavy wooden door gave way to a lovely parlor, and the butler showed her in. It was a Western home, modern and shiny—quite different from the church. There was elegance here, a maturity that she didn't see in her own home. Granted, she decorated things with teacups, doilies, and pink plushies… The soup was taken from her, despite her protests, and to her utter surprise she was searched. At first she struggled, which prompted the two burly house-guards to hold tighter. The feeling of bondage gave her the warm-tinglies, and she relaxed in their grips. Apparently the young Rock heir was being heavily watched and protected after the kidnapping-Hell's Gate incident. The Master of the House didn't want his only son getting swiped again.

After all the proceedings, Stocking was allowed to go upstairs with her soup (which had been tested for poison or drugs) and given direction to Brief's room. The carpet was red and clean, the walls covered with sprawling art, walls pearly and dust-free. Everything about the place was immaculate. But then again, if you have a fleet of maids, why wouldn't your house be perfect?

No one accompanied her, or told her what to do once she had found the right door. A left turn at the stairs, fifth door on the right, near the end of the hall. She was sure it was the right one, and had even double checked, but didn't know how to proceed. It occurred to her that Brief visited them all the time; this was the first time she had thought to return the favor, and it made her feel awkward. In fact, she started losing her nerve, and even turned to leave, when she heard a muffled sound from behind the door in front of her. Pressing her ear to the wood, she listened again. Yes, just as she thought. Someone was sneezing in there. And she had a good idea of who it was.

Brief heard the knock, and called out in a crackling voice, "Come in." His vocal cords, already in flux from puberty, were rocked by his cold. It was frankly embarrassing how silly he sounded. Like a yodeler, or something. The young Rock heir was even more mortified when _Stocking_ walked in. Here he was, surrounded by used tissues, old comic books, Ghostbusters DVDs-… Just a mess. Even his pajamas, which were actually his old jumpsuit, were embarrassing.

"S-S-S-S-Stocking-!" He yanked his thick blankets up to his nose, so only his green eyes could be seen. His orange, curly hair, even mussed, was still too short to hide him now. Stocking had never seen him so casual, and so-…vulnerable. Well, maybe that wasn't the word. He was always vulnerable. But never in such a plain, almost natural way.

"Hello," she greeted him. He was acting more like himself, which made her act more like _her_self. In the bathroom, he had been cold and distant. But here, he was just as endearing and bumbling as he always had been. It comforted her. "How is your cold?"

Brief gave her a crooked smile as he tried to kick humiliating items off of his bed without her noticing. He ignored the little thuds and smacks of paper and plastic hitting the hardwood. All the house was hardwood, since that was easier to care for than carpet, and it lasted much longer.

"Oh, f-fine," he stuttered, voice cracking. He cleared his throat, sighing only for a moment. "Just fine."

Stocking nodded to him, and surveyed his room. He had some of the things a boy his age might have: a large TV, a few consoles for video games, a lap top, a desk, a bookshelf. But he also had things that only Brief would have: many EMF meters, inventions of his own make, some tools, old motherboards he had been working on and abandoned. Such things like that. There was a bulletin board on his wall covered in pictures of Panty, but by the look of it, he was in the process of removing them. Many of them littered the floor. Hm. The boy in question stirred her from her thoughts.

"What are-?.. D-Did you need something?"

The congestion in his tone was fairly obvious, and she could only smirk. It just made him sound younger, which reminded her of all the things they had done together. When they had first met. She didn't know why she was so nostalgic today, and shook her head to rid herself of the memories.

"I brought you some soup." She crossed the room to him, and he received the soup from her with sturdy hands. They both stared down at the Tupperware, and after a few ticking seconds of silence, Brief spoke.

"Thanks," he said, clearing his throat again. There wasn't much else to say, he thought. Just that, and she could be on her way. It wasn't that he didn't like Stocking, or didn't want to see her in particular. She just reminded him too much of her sister, and he wasn't exactly feeling up to anything—even talking—at the moment.

"Well," Brief prompted, sitting the soup aside. He wasn't hungry either. "You better be getting back to—"

"Eat some," she commanded. Brief blinked.

"What?"

"… Eat some." She sounded slightly unsure, ducking an eye behind her long hair. "The steam will clear your sinuses, and the broth will make your throat feel better."

Being polite felt suddenly very, very hard. But Brief didn't sound anything but calm and insistent when he replied to her. "Yeah, I know. I'm just not hungry right n—"

"Here, let me help." Once again, she interrupted him, but this time she moved closer and sat right down on the side of his bed. The near-red-head smiled out of a nervous reflex, pressing his back against the headboard of his bed.

"You don't have to."

"I want to."

Her voice sounded so soft. He hadn't heard it so soft before. He hadn't seen her so close before. Stocking's hair was so long, he noticed, and her gothic-lolita style suited her well. Brief wondered, though, if blue and pink was anything close to her natural hair color. How often did she dye it? Her blue eyes, bright like the water of the Caribbean islands, never wavered from his own. Already, her delicate fingers, like lily petals, were working up under the lid of her container. Prying it open. Brief felt the wash of heat as the top popped off. He swallowed, and his throat ached.

"Say, ahhh~" she told him, holding up a spoonful she had blown on. Brief couldn't tell if the twisting in his gut was from his cold, or from this scenario. The spoon came for him, gently floating to his lips, so he had no choice but to open his mouth and let her stick it in. After he bit back down, they just stared at one another, as if unsure of what to do. The young Rock was in a bad situation because: 1) he could only breathe properly through his nose, so the longer he closed his mouth, the more suffocated he felt, and 2) the soup tasted like warm sink water, sugared powder, and old socks.

His eyes watered, and he realized that Stocking wasn't going to take the spoon out until he swallowed. It was a struggle, since his dulled sense of taste didn't agree with the meal and his throat burned from the contact, but he managed. He breathed a little heavy when she finally took the spoon out. Immediately, he felt the incredible need to sneeze, so strong and fierce he could not quell it or hold it back for Stocking's benefit. Brief didn't enjoy being ill and weak in front of others, since all it did was draw attention that made him uncomfortable. He clenched his teeth, jolting with his wet sneeze, but his body was no appeased by only one. Stocking pulled a tissue from his depleting box and pressed it into his hand, waiting for him to finish before she served him again. The steam was irritating his sensitive, cold-afflicted nose, making him need to sneeze everything out.

Despite Brief's embarrassment, Stocking did not mind; it was a human thing to do, and therefore rather endearing. She had always seen humans as "in the way" or a "distraction," but actually they weren't so bad. At least not Brief. He was more unique, more complicated, now that she looked at him closely.

After blowing his nose as softly as he could while Stocking politely looked the other way, he felt a little better. His head was less heavy. Though he barely got a moment to catch his breath before Stocking had another spoonful hovering by his lips. It had been a battle to swallow the first spoonful. He didn't know if he could stomach another.

"I—"

Once his mouth was open, Stocking pushed the spoon in, and Brief's surprised sound made her grin. After swallowing, he coughed a little, eyes looking misty. Again, she pasted a hand to his head to check for a bad fever, since glazed eyes were sometimes a symptom. Brief sighed, getting more exasperated than he was humiliated. A wrist came up to ward away her hand from his skin.

"Thank you," he told her, voice soft and shy. "But I would really just like to sleep." Rubbing an eye, not lying about feeling tired, he paused when she spoke up. The spoon clattered against the bowl's edge as she put it back into the soup.

"Brief," she said. They met eyes. "What did you see in Panty?"


	7. Small Talk

**A/N: Hello, readers! Thanks for waiting~! I bring you another chapter ^_^ Hope you like it. I'm trying to stay in character, but it's getting kind of OOC despite my best intentions w'' xDDD**

6. Small Talk

The question stirred something in him. It was hot, dark, and deep in the pits of his lungs and abdomen. It wasn't pleasant. In fact, it was angry. With the name, a thousand memories came surging up, and none of them were anything he wanted to remember.

Every single fucking time he tried to say or do anything-… always ungrateful, Panty was. And her sister wasn't too clean on that account either. The sudden green flames in Brief's eyes made Stocking sit back a little, her own blue eyes widening. _That glare could ice a bitch_, she thought.

"Why is that any of your business?" he snapped. Again, Stocking noticed how easy it was to determine his emotions without his bangs across his eyes. The honest irritation on his face intimidated her. Two years ago, Brief's anger was only funny and pathetic; now it was discomfiting.

"No need to be a dick about it," she said. "I was just-"

"You _see?_" He pointed at her, his gaze incriminating. "It's that kind of talk that made me give up in the first place."

Stocking blinked. What kind of talk was he talking about? Both sisters had always spoken a certain way to one another, and to other people. Therefore, it was difficult for her to grasp the concept of "meanness." Not being human didn't help; she wasn't properly socialized. And frankly, Brief was a sensitive, soft person, with feelings that were easily damaged. He just persevered past them most of the time. Now was not one of those times.

When Stocking didn't say anything, Brief used the edge of his sleeve to wipe under his nose. His scowl didn't lift, but his tone was defeated. "S-sorry.. but could you just go?" He was done with hinting. He would just downright ask her.

Blinking in surprise, the angel was unsure of what to do with herself. It was all foreign to her. Brief hardly ever, if ever, asked the angels to leave him alone. He invested great amounts of his energy in catching up with them, maintaining them, despite all their personal attempts to avoid him. Stocking should be glad, she realized, for this opportunity—glad he was asking for distance. But she wasn't. For some reason, her heart hurt a little.

"Damn, you're such a crybaby," she said, dropping the spoon back into the soup. It probably wasn't the appropriate response, but she couldn't help it. It was reflex. Brief glared at her now, in no mood for a lack of sympathy. "If you don't like us, why were you even friends with us in the first place?"

"Because I foolishly thought one day you'd stop being a pair of heartless bitches," he spat. Stocking, appalled, fish mouthed at him. "But apparently angels don't change." His green eyes illuminated with his passion, fierce and firm against his pallid skin. His cheeks glowed pink from either ardor or fever.

"Well, you can be quite the thankless prick when you want to be," she said. Yet even as she chided him, insulted him, she made no move to leave. Something kept her glued to her chair. Brief's eyes widened with disbelief.

"Thankless? _Thankless?_ What should I be thanking you for?!" His illness wore his voice down, keeping it low and bleating. He sounded like a young man with a bad head cold, and he was…but to know that he was actually Brief created such a strong juxtaposition. Like blood on snow.

"Maybe all those times we saved your life—"

"Oh, nevermind the times I saved yours! You and your good-for-nothing sister!"

"Don't talk about Panty like that, you pasty, human bastard," she squeaked, feral like a wild cat. Brief unexpectedly smiled, and the predatory nature of it struck Stocking between the eyes.

"Oh, what are you gonna do? Exorcize me?"

In a fit of elated anger, Stocking raised a hand to slap him, just as her sister had back in their kitchen. But Brief caught her this time, enclosing his strong, large hand around her small wrist. His grip was warm, tight, but not painful. Before she could retaliate, he leaned in, and she felt his hot breath against her lips.

"Don't you _dare_ come into my house and act like I owe you or your sister anything," he growled, low and gravelly. "Even if you covered my ass, I put up with your shit long enough to settle debts." He let her go then, tossing her arm away as if he loathed touching it. Never had Stocking thought Brief could be capable of saying things like this. Such a gentle person driven to cruelty-… for the first time, Stocking began considering what they could have done to him.

Well, when they first met him, Panty kicked a raging beehive onto his head. Granted, it was there in the first place, but still.

They destroyed his PKE Meter.

They once stripped (or attempted to) him of his clothes in a public place.

They refused multiple times to let him ride with them in See Through.

At least once, both of them have caused or dealt him physical abuse.

When the Demon Scanty made a threat on his life, the Anarchy sisters replied candidly that they didn't care.

They often ignore his attempts of kindness toward them.

They ignore his advice.

They use his hormones to their advantages, especially Panty.

When shrunk down to size, they entered his body and proceeded to nearly kill him.

They are openly rude to him

Panty was not accepted to heaven because she was such a bitch, and proceeded to still act like one when left on earth, attempting to make Brief fight all the ghosts alone.

Panty _did_ give Brief "the viginity of an angel," but at the cost of probably his emotional stability. He grew attached to her, and she dropped him right after the deed was over.

Stocking _could_ blame herself and her sister for all this, but that wasn't fair. Brief was just as much at fault—for his creepiness, for his obsessiveness, for his perseverance, his willingness, his durability. He was asking for it, most of the time, and if he couldn't handle it he shouldn't have been asking in the first place. All of this tumbled through her head, and eventually the silence lingered long enough.

"_Please_ just go," Brief said, rubbing an eye. He felt gross, sleepy, and hot. He didn't want to have Stocking bothering him right now. In fact, as much as he hated himself for it, if he had to have one of the angels with him it would be Panty. He cursed his broken heart for his weakness.

Humans were more complicated than Stocking thought. Especially at Brief's age. When he coughed a few times, she met his eyes with a somewhat sympathetic gaze. For the first time, Stocking felt herself giving a shit about him—about his feelings. And that was a strange, strange experience. For the fourth time in many days, Stocking put a hand on his forehead. Before, in their church kitchen, he had felt warm. The other times she tried, he had thwarted her. But this time he let her, and he felt hot. Being an angel, Stocking had never been sick before, and the raw heat of his body fascinated her. On a cold day, cuddling up against a human furnace might not be so unpleasant-… She shook her head at herself. What was she thinking?

"You're really hot…" She said it quietly, as if unsure of herself. Her hand did not move, and it was so cool and refreshing against his burning head, Brief didn't ask her to remove it. Sighing, he leaned back against his pillows and closed his eyes. As long as Stocking wasn't physically or verbally abusing him, he supposed she didn't have to go anywhere. Though her persistent desire to remain in his room was baffling.

When he didn't say anything, looking almost asleep, Stocking awkwardly asked, "Will you get better?"

What a question. It applied to more than just his cold. His heart, his confidence, his friendships and future all dangled in the white space above him, uncertain and hard to reach. Would he get better?

"Probably," he said, voice hoarse and soft. But who really knew? The logical side of him said he was being overly dramatic, but that was piece easily gagged and tied. Besides, his head was aching a little too much for him to think extensively on his life. He just wanted to sleep. Again, the silence stretched and Stocking found her thumb tenderly moving on its own, stroking his forehead. It was dry and smooth. She pulled at the hem of her skirt, shifting in her chair as she cleared her throat. Then Brief spoke.

"I saw a future in Panty," he said through a drowsy haze. Stocking's eyes hovered on his eyelids, and the matted orange mess of his hair. "But I don't anymore. It hurts."

That was the answer to her question, then. It was a satisfactory answer for her, and was all she wanted from him. Reluctantly, she thought about standing to go, but the moment her hand shifted he slapped one of his own on top of it. His eyes cracked open, bright with fever and pain. Pain from love and from loss.

"C-.. could you stay with me until," he swallowed, "fall asleep?"

…and…suddenly, Stocking found she couldn't really say no.


	8. Maybe

**A/N: Another chapter, whuuuuut~? Prepare for a bit of OOCness xD. I pride myself of making convincing characters, so that's why I flip out so much over unbelievable situations. Then again, StockingxBrief isn't really cannon anyway xP**

8. Maybe?

So Stocking stayed until he fell asleep, and it didn't take long. His breathing leveled out, deep and slightly congested, body relaxed and limp. On second thought, as she trudged back home to the church, perhaps she should have stayed with him until the fever broke. She heard that fevers could kill people if they got too high, but since when was she nursemaid to the Geek Boy, anyway? Being sappy and rubbing his head until he drifted off had been more than enough. Though…

Stocking rubbed the cold pads of her fingers together, still able to feel the crisp, human heat against them. Frowning, she wondered why it had been such a draw…Why had she wanted to keep her hand there, even after he was no longer conscious? She didn't know the answer, and had the creeping feeling that she didn't want to explore it either. The spoon and leftover soup sloshed against the Tupperware as she stomped through the snow back towards the church. Hopefully there hadn't been any trouble while she was gone.

She leaned into the creaky door, and with a tired delight, realized there hadn't been. The house was the same as when she left, albeit a little more askew. Probably from Panty rummaging around for one thing or another. The sister in question looked back over her shoulder from the couch.

"Close the damn door," she ordered. "It's fucking freezing."

Sighing, Stocking let the heavy wood clasp behind her as she unraveled the scarf from her neck. Panty slit her eyes suspiciously as she eyed the soup. "And just what were you doing out?"

"What are you, my mom?"

"Geez," Panty said, looking back at the television. "I was just wondering, damn.."

Stocking didn't want Panty to know about her outing for plenty of reasons, the most prominent one about not wanting to get judged. Panty would most certainly take it the wrong way, assume all the wrong things, and then never let her live it down. So no one needed to know. Ever. Hn, speaking of that, she would probably have to get Brief to sign some sort of binding contract so he didn't spill the beans either. Not that he seemed keen on talking to Panty again, anyway.

Panty watched her sister tend to the dishes, scrub them and dry them, put them away. She did all this from the corner of her blue eyes, legs crossed and posture slouched against the couch. Chuck stretched out on the rug by the table, enjoying a lazy, cozy home safe from the cold. The silence hung on the air, chilling and sticky, before Panty closed her eyes.

"You were with him, weren't you?"

The lack of response was answer enough, but Stocking interrupted before Panty could follow up.

"That's where you want to be, isn't it?"

It was probably the least-expected reply, though Panty kept her poker-face intact. It was the implication that surprised her, not the accuracy. No, Panty did not want to be with him. He was snotty, sniffly, sneezy, and therefore more disgusting than usual. Weak, pathetic human men. Good for only a quick fuck and then useless. The blonde angel was still furious with him because of his words, and she didn't intend on forgiving him soon. Instead, he could come crawling back to her, just like she knew he would. Panty smirked.

"You want him," she said, snuggling down into her seat. Stocking stiffened at her place by the sink, slamming the plastic and spoon against the tub.

"Not all of us are as horny as you are, dear sister."

"Nor as much of a self-righteous bitch as you."

What ensued was a bloody, hair-pulling, eye-clawing mess that Brief (at another time) would have probably enjoyed watching just a little. Being angels, they could tolerate more pain, maintain a greater level of stamina, and generally kick more ass than human women could. Neither one was sure exactly how long the fist fighting lasted, but once it was over, they had almost forgotten what had started it. They finished it by sharing dinner on the couch and settling back into their passive-aggressive, non-spoken agreement of sisterhood. It was how every disagreement usually ended eventually.

Final exams came over the high school like a plague the following week, some kids with at least one a day. Panty and Stocking did well enough to avoid expulsion, but were by no means stellar. Brief, who had nearly recovered from his cold, had spent his waking hours studying that weekend. The results showed. He had studied, he decided, not for his teachers or his father, but for himself—the future he would one day want.

Because the three of them all shared a few classes together, it was impossible for them to avoid one another. The Rock heir did his best to keep Panty out of his line of vision, and Stocking tried to duck away from the both of them. After the awkward exchange between her and Geek Boy that past Saturday, she neither wanted to meet his eyes nor remind Panty of their altercation following the visit. Unfortunately, even with her best intentions, a sort of magnetism brought them together.

He was constantly around her in the halls, either keeping to himself or chatting with a friend about something or another. She noticed him in the lunchroom, and no matter where she chose to sit, he felt close. Before and after school, he always arrived and left when she did. Both of them appeared determined to avoid one another, yet they were around each other on a frustratingly often basis. Midweek, Stocking had a misstep.

The strong, soft chest took her by surprise. The ensuing, deep, "Sorry," surprised her even more. Looking up, eyes huge and fearful, she felt cold at the green globes and orange hair that met her. Reaching up to push a few wayward bangs from his eyes, Brief shifted his gaze.

"Didn't see you there," he offered in way of excuse. Stocking knew he was telling the truth. His tone was taut and it was impossible for him to keep the mild horror from his face. The angel, all of a sudden aflutter, stammered for a moment.

"Oh, I-…well, me neither. I mean, I saw myself.. not you, though.. ha.." Mentally, she choked herself. What was she even saying?! She sounded like Brief the few early times he attempted to approach Panty… ugh. He quirked a brow at her, just as taken aback as she was about her reply.

"Right," he said, and gave a bashful sort of smile, amused by the awkward tension hovering around them. People in the halls shuffled by them, jostling and filling the echoing space with a thousand voices. It felt muffled, like Stocking and Brief were in a glass orb of silence.

"You…seem better," Stocking commented, glancing down to pull a little at her skirt. Her cheeks felt warm, and she was baffled by the sensation. The one time she had convinced herself she was in love, she had been buoyant and candyish, not shy. Not hesitant. What were these feelings now? Why?

"I feel… better," Brief said, though he sounded unsure. "Thanks for, you know… for that.."

Stocking understood what he referred to and nodded for him to stop talking, waving a dainty hand. "Yeah, sure. It was no problem…"

Again, the tension descended, neither one really knowing the appropriate thing to say to the other. Brief, still of the mind that evasion was key, moved to slip around her.

"Well, see y—" He paused when Stocking grabbed his arm, staring pointedly at the floor, her bicolor bangs obscuring her teal eyes completely. Brief looked for a moment at her nails, painted a navy blue, and then to her profile. He assumed she would speak, and when she didn't, he prompted her. "Need something?"

"I'm sorry," she murmured, and Brief's eyes widened. She plowed forward before he could say anything. "For us treating you the way we did. For Panty being Panty, and… I.. I could have done a better job looking from the inside out with you."

The admission stunned Brief, and he took in a quick breath. Still, the bodies moved around them, uninterested in their conversation. He felt as though he stood there much longer than he actually did, turning to glance at her only after absorbing the knowledge.

"Are you lying?"

Stocking sobered at that, not really blaming him for wondering. Perhaps she didn't think he would ask aloud, but the fact he had considered it didn't shock her. Though, it hurt a little.

"No."

"No?"

"…I said no, didn't I?"

The hush of their voices felt all the louder in the tide of students, which was beginning to fade. They trickled into their classes, and before long, the angel and the boy were the only beings left. With his other hand, Brief reached and enclosed it over the appendage at his arm, holding it for a moment.

"Thanks," he said. Stocking gave a little, darling glance to his eyes, and found them rather warm. It encouraged her to hold his gaze. "I'm sorry too. I shouldn't take my anger at Panty out on you."

"You have reason to. I wasn't very nice either."

"We just didn't have anything to talk about," he told her, and the statement rang true. Those times they had been alone, there had been little to say. It had always been that way. Both of them held up a similar wall of distance. She had done so before him out of duty, out of responsibility. But he did it now for safety. Protection for his heart. She smiled gently as she suddenly understood.

"Maybe… than can change, soon," she offered. Her reason for doing so felt foreign, though deep down she had an inkling it was because she wanted it. It was scary, since he was a human. But she hadn't let species differences get in her way before. Still, it wasn't something she preferred to think hard about. Putting too much stock made it frightening for her. Brief felt the same as he let go of her hand, turning to go.

"Yeah," he told her over his shoulder, and then stared forward as he smiled. "Maybe."


	9. Forging

**A/N: I'm glad you guys are still liking this~! Been a while since I updated, though I keep getting emails about people following. Reviewing and favoriting reminds me you guys still like this w~! I figured it's about time I added another chapter x'D. Sorry it's so short, but know that this story isn't dead! Not sure where this is going, but I never do, so here we goooo~**

9. Forging

"So this is…?"

"That's X-Men."

"… and this?"

"Hellboy."

"Ugh!"

Brief laughed, surprising both of them with the noise. "Well," he grinned, "You don't have to read it."

It was spring, and along with the grass and the birds came Stocking. More and more they had talked as the snow melted, and less and less tense they became. It was a joint effort: Stocking vowed to learn more about the boy who had been there for them, and Brief promised to very slowly let her in if she knocked politely. Of course, they never spoke at length in public—it was almost an unspoken rule. Neither of them so much as spared more than a glance for the other during class, in the halls, or at lunch.

But after school and on the weekends, they would find themselves together. Today they were in a comic store; Brief had admitted to a passion for graphic novels earlier that week and agreed to educate Stocking in the ways of geekdom. She had solemnly sworn not to ridicule him, despite what ridiculousness she was finding on the shelves.

"There are so many," Stocking said, taking a bite of the king-sized candy bar she had brought along. She had about five more in her purse, a tiny pink strappy thing over her shoulder. Brief leaned against the shelf, carding fingers through his hair. Stocking had noticed a while ago that he did this gesture often when thinking.

"A lot of people like making them," he said. He was still smiling, staring now at the rows and rows of book spines, and Stocking felt the chocolate melt in her mouth as she thought about how effortlessly cool he looked. This was his place, she realized, and he was comfortable here. Wordlessly he reached and pulled a golden and black volume from the crowd, presenting it to her. It had a man and a woman intertwined on the cover, ready to kiss, surrounded by billowing black wings. Stocking received it with wide eyes, glancing up at him.

"It's called A Flight of Angels," Brief explained, nodding to the book in her hands. "It's about an angel who falls to earth, and the people who find him take turns guessing what kind of person he might be."

Her eyes widened when he told her it was about an angel, and again she looked down to the cover. The human presentation of angels had always amused her, but the comic in her hand insinuated elegance. Something substantial. And for some reason, the fact Brief had picked it from the bushel just for her made it all the more precious. She felt her cheeks alighting, growing warm. The silence stretched.

".. uh, you don't have to get it or anything. Just thought I would show you—"

"No!" Stocking said suddenly. She clasped the book to her chest. "No, I… might as well see what kind of absurd things you humans are saying about us." She tried to smirk, but worried that her attempted guise was weak. It fished a roguish roll of Brief's eyes anyhow.

"Oh yeah, because angels totally don't stereotype humans either."

Stocking found she liked this banter. They did it more and more, and it was both something familiar and something new. It was softer, kinder than she was used to, yet still biting. And Brief was biting back, which was also becoming more and more usual. Stocking assumed it was because of his discovered independence, but it could also be because they were…becoming friends. Friends.

Just friends?... More and more Stocking puzzled over this at night. Every day she was trying harder, whether or not she was aware of it, to impress him. Once Stocking had run out of laundry and was forced to wear a disgusting light green cardigan over a white blouse. Brief had paid her a compliment, telling her he liked her in such light, feminine colors, and that afternoon Stocking had maxed a credit card buying pastels. When she ran out of time before school one day, she crammed her bed head into a ponytail. And Brief had told her she looked very, very nice. So now she tried all kinds of new up-does.

Today, in the comic book store, she had an over-the-shoulder braid with a pale blue dress and white sandals. A frilly, flowing white scarf. It was nothing she would have ever tried wearing before, but Brief had told her just hours ago she looked, "like the beach and kind of Zooey Deschanel, which is awesome." She didn't really even know who Zooey Deschanel was, but her heart had leapt.

"Stocking?" His voice was so deep, and her name sounded delicious in it.

"Mm?" Dreamy. Did she sound dreamy? Fuck.

"Are you…going to pay for that?"

She blinked. They had made their way up to the register at some point, and the clerk was staring at them warily, blank faced. Brief looked mildly concerned, green eyes bright and creased. Stocking's brain worked extra fast to catch up.

"What? Of course! Lemme just-.." She fumbled with her purse and ended up dropping a wad of her change, which went exploding over the floor like a metallic firecracker. Coins rolled everywhere. And when she bent down to collect them, so did Brief; they butted heads. It was more than a scene in a movie—it was a nightmare. "Sorry, sorry," she growled, more angry at herself than she had ever been.

And of course right then her phone rang. If it was who she thought it was, Stocking didn't want to pick up. But she had to, in case it was serious. Sighing, she flipped her phone open without even looking at the ID.

"Speak."

"Where the fuck are you?"

Stocking cringed. Yeah, that was Panty.

"Why do you want to know?" Stocking asked, trying to pick up coins with one hand while Brief leaned over the counter and paid for her comic himself. It wasn't that expensive, and he was rich after all. Stocking didn't notice, and if she had, she might have protested his act of kindness.

"Why? Why? Because I'm fighting shitty ectoplasm bastards all by myself, that's why!"

"Since when are you the responsible one?" Stocking scoffed, only half-believing Panty's account. "And since when do you ever take a job without me making you?"

"You think I wanted to do this? They found me, bitch. Surrounded the church."

"That's hallowed ground. They shouldn't be able to get in—"

"I know," Panty groaned, and Stocking could hear the rumbles of something pounding on wood. Panty sounded more annoyed than afraid, but Stocking couldn't keep the cold dread from her stomach. "But they're coming anyway. So get your ass over here ASAP!" Panty didn't wait for a response, and the line was dead before Stocking managed to get a breath in. She abandoned her coin collection, instead making a beeline for the door. Brief jumped, startled, and manhandled the bag quickly from the cashier.

"Keep the change!" he called over his shoulder. He just barely cleared the automatic doors as they opened, sprinting after Stocking who was already halfway down the street. He forgot how fast she could be. Sometimes forgot she was immortal. He drew quick breaths as his shoes pounded the sidewalk, trying to keep up. "Stocking! What's going on?!"

"Get lost, Geek Boy!" Stocking didn't even bother looking over her shoulder, in too much of a trance. She was in "Save Sister" mode, and that was a mindset Brief wasn't privy too. Probably never would be. For as much as she and Panty argued and punched and swore at one another, they had a strong bond.

"What?" Brief's voice was a little meek. Hurt. Stocking grit her teeth and tried not to hear that tone in his words.

"You'll just get hurt!" she shouted as she turned the corner, hopping into See Through. They had left it on the curb at the end of a long block, and she slammed the driver-side door, coaxing the engine into a roar. Brief was still running for her, panting, arms pumping, carrying that dumb comic he had bought for her.

"Don't follow me!" she warned him, and then peeled out, leaving Brief to choke on the exhaust from the tailpipe. It was a sadly familiar feeling for the two of them, harkening back to the older times when Brief would be cast aside from ghost business without a second glance in the review mirror. It was because he always screwed things up on missions, Stocking told herself. He would get himself hurt, or get one of them hurt.

Brief tried to catch his breath, chest heaving from the run, the plastic bag clutched in his hand making crinkling sounds in the faint spring breeze. What little semblance he had left of his bangs blew back from his forehead. Eyes narrowed at the pink dot disappearing down the road towards the edge of town—toward the church. Pressing his lips together into a thin line, Brief straightened up.

No, he wouldn't do it again. They had made a deal, him and Stocking. They stay on good terms until one of them screwed up and reverted to the "old way," and Brief sure as hell wasn't going to be the one to do it. She had broken her promise, treated him like she used to, and that was that. No more outings, no more phone calls, no more laughing together over stupid jokes he tried to tell when they were both in especially good moods. Spell broken, end of story.

And yet even when Brief turned away and pulled out his cell phone to call a chauffer to come pick him up, he couldn't help but look back over his shoulder down the road toward the edge of town—toward the church.


	10. Battle Scene

**A/N: Well howdy friends! I've taken my sweet time, haven't I? This is why I should finish fics before I post them. Otherwise this happens LOL. Thanks for staying with me, and thanks especially to the reviewers who asked me where I had been! You're all beautiful.**

**(also, I can't write battle scenes well LOL. And, angst warning, wooo!)**

10. Battle Scene

Panty liked to think of herself as a patient person. Patient enough, anyway. She had a lot of flaws, sure, but she owned up to most of them. Never tried to be anyone she wasn't. There was a sense of nobility in that. But when Stocking took her damn sweet time getting home from her shitty date with the One-Who-Will-Not-Be-Named, Panty couldn't help but be a teeny, tiny bit frustrated.

"WHAT THE HELL, STOCKING?!" she screamed, back pressed against the inside of the front door. There was a torrent of ghosts pressing to get in, the ruckus of them deafening. Stocking had entered through a secret back-entrance created just for this purpose, and they could thank Garterbelt for that. They probably wouldn't actually thank him, but they were truly thankful at the moment. Ever since the dealings with Hell's Gate, Garterbelt had been busy taking care of stuff upstairs.

"Don't give me sass," Stocking said, slipping off her stockings while Panty held back the ghostly tied. "I came as fast as I could."

"What are you _wearing?_"

Stocking gritted her teeth. Panty was a fan of hot, sexy tones, and Stocking was the navy-and-darker Goth chick. But, for Brief, she had worn cutesy-pastels. She didn't anticipate how embarrassing it would be to get called out on it.

"Just shut up," she groaned. It wasn't like this was the first time she wore light-colored clothing, but she had to admit to even herself that the side-braid was new. Whatever, they didn't have time for this. Helping Panty brace the door, immediately trying to sort out the problem. Ghosts and demons were not supposed to have the power to push into the church; it was holy ground, and therefore too pure for evil to enter.

Panty kept her back to the wood, feeling the roiling hate behind it. Little by little, the force was growing. They could not hold it back forever. "What's the plan, genius?" she grunted, heels sliding against the floor.

"I don't even know why this is happening," Stocking complained. Her voice was tight with the effort of holding them back, wondering with a little fear if they would find another way in or grow too strong to keep outside. "I guess we'll just have to – "

Pressure built and released, bursting the windows of the church and sending glass shimmering to the ground. Immediately, spiritual bodies flocked in like a fog too thick to see through, and Stocking realized with a sick horror that just about every ghost in the city must have come.

None of them were particularly big or violent, but there were so _many_ of them. There was no time to think, and the sisters set about shooting and slashing without pause. This wouldn't be the first time the church was destroyed, after all. They could rebuild, if they lived through this. And they would, like they always did.

But then again, this was a more difficult fight than they may have ever faced. There was no strategy, no creative angle – just ghost after ghost after ghost, all faceless and angry and fast, coming for nothing but blood. There were floods of them, and Stocking quickly found herself growing very tired from the onslaught. Since Hell's Gate, there hadn't been much activity to take care of. Maybe they were out of shape.

Panty missed a shot and took a hard blow to the side from one of the ghosts, slamming into the wall and sending debris sprinkling as the foundation cracked. Stocking turned to look, worried for her sister, and she took a crack to the jaw. Staggering from the stinging pain, she swore at the back of her throat and used one of her katanas to deflect and slice. Panty gathered herself to stand, but was already being swarmed by more ghosts as she tried.

How long had they been fighting? How many had they purified and how many were left? It was impossible to tell, and the sisters were slowly but surely getting pushed from offense into a constant defense while they tried to stand against the relentless force of the ghosts. Eventually they would be too exhausted to even to that much. There was just no opening, no way to get a leg up over so very many adversaries. The sisters' most safe, sacred place was now profaned by evil, and that was painful enough, without the battle.

The roar of the ghosts was loud, filling the church like a wind-tunnel and whipping Stocking's hair around her like a whirlwind. Splinters and glass stung her skin; the continuous gasp of the dead echoing in the church pressed her ears. Panty kept a hand across Stocking, trying to shield her with her body, aiming the gun with her free hand. Not as if it would do anything. There were just too many to shoot. The sisters would die under the weight of corrupt souls, but at least they would die together. Stocking always did wonder what the death of an angel would feel like. She closed her eyes tight.

And then nothing happened. The wind kept going, the ghosts kept moaning, but there was no crushing pain or bright light. Tentatively, Stocking opened her eyes again. What she saw there rocked her to the core.

The jumpsuit. He was standing, legs apart and holding him steady against the tornado ripping furniture up around them. One arm buffered the debris, held near Stocking to keep them out of her face. The goggles across his eyes were mirrored and made it impossible to see the green orbs beneath, but Stocking knew they were be there. And they would be determined, as they so often were in times of peril like this.

Brief held an orb in his hand, white and smooth, and from it an arc of electricity bloomed. Like a fountain, lines of lightening frizzled and flickered around them, creating a large circle. The ghosts would not come close to it, would hiss and toss themselves in circles in anger because of it. After watching them for a moment, Brief turned and crouched in front of the sisters. Panty was the first to speak, trying to keep the shock from her voice.

"W-.. What is that?"

"A purity barrier," Brief said, taking Panty's hand without permission and gently passing it to her. Panty looked upon it in wonder, even her sarcasm and crudeness overwhelmed by expressions of awe. Brief continued, standing to begin unhitching things from his tool belt. "It electrifies the air around us at such a frequency that ghosts can't enter."

"Damn," Panty breathed, blue eyes alight with the glare the lightening bolts were putting off. "Where'd you get it..?"

Brief's smirk was rueful in the most soft of ways. "I built it."

Neither of the sisters said anything to that, and Stocking could feel Panty squirming a little beside her – uncomfortable. Both of them had underestimated Brief too much too early. Now he had grown into something quite fierce. Before they could ruminate, he was talking again.

"I think the corruption left over from the opening of Hell's Gate began to weaken the sanctity seals of the church," he said. Brief unhooked what looked like a gummy grip. Something you would hold in the palm of your hand. "One of you will have to reapply them."

Stocking hadn't even thought of that. When churches are built, they imbue the land with something holy and clean, but she supposed huge amounts of corruption could indeed undermine and kill purity over time. All angels had the ability to bless and clean objects or land, though Stocking couldn't say she knew the way.

"How?" Panty asked, voicing Stocking's thoughts. She held the little orb close to her, watching the chaos just outside the barrier. The paint on the walls was peeling with the force of the wind. They had to shout over it to be heard.

Brief looked annoyed. "I don't know. It's an angel thing, right?"

"I think I remember," Stocking said a little too quietly. Both of them managed to hear her anyway, and she stood up with purpose. There was a little, blinking instinct at the back of her mind. Something about drawing a circle around the church?

Brief nodded to the orb in Panty's hands. "Take it! They'll be after you once they know what you're doing!"

Panty was a bitch most of the time, but she wasn't an idiot. She could fight, and she could strategize. Brief's plan was sound – give Stocking the protection while Panty acts as a decoy. The only problem was the amount of ghosts. Even at her full strength with her head in the game, she couldn't do it alone.

Brief stood in front of Stocking with the orb now, carefully fastening it to her waist where it would be out of her way yet secure. This close, she could see the freckles on his face and feel the warmth of his breath. He was focused, clear-headed… when had he grown up from a boy to a man? Stocking had been there, and somehow missed it.

She jumped when he took her shoulders, his face suddenly very close. "Be careful," he said. The words tickled her lips, and even though she couldn't see his eyes through his glassed goggles, she knew he was looking at her without glancing away. There were long seconds of it, until Panty cleared her throat. The contact between them broke.

There wasn't much time to dawdle, and Stocking quickly began moving away, taking the circle of protection with her. Immediately she was nervous the electric barrier would hurt her sister, would hurt Brief, but it didn't. The waves of it passed over them as if nothing more than air, and as it happened, Brief lifted the gum-grip he had been holding in his fist. It grew long suddenly, like an automatic umbrella, and electricity buzzed along it. Stocking knew it was the self-same stuff protecting her right now.

"FUCKING GO ALREADY!" Panty shouted as the ghosts swooped a decent. Stocking watched as Brief stepped forward and began to spin his spear, creating a wheel of defense. When had he learned how to do this and that? To be a hero? Stocking supposed he always had been.

She fled from them, disappearing into the depths of the church. What she needed was holy water, oil, and the prayer for purity. They would all be in Garterbelt's personal library no doubt. Her barrier of protection made her of no interest to the ghosts, though she still had to dodge the hazard of flying furniture. The very floorboards were ripping up at this point. There was a tell-tale groaning above her that meant the roof would soon tear off.

Panty and Brief, meanwhile, were managing to find heated awkwardness in the midst of a life-or-death battle. They had not spoken once since the afternoon last winter, and a season later, Brief still didn't have much to say. Panty did.

"Bet it burns your ass that you have to fight next to a bitch like me, huh?" she called to him, shooting three ghosts right between the eyes. Brief stabbed several through with his spear, immobilizing them but not purifying. He couldn't put holiness into his science.

"Can we not?" he asked. Most of his attention was on fighting anyway. Stocking and Panty sparred enough to where they could carry on conversations, but Brief was not so experienced. Didn't stop Panty, of course.

"Aww, poor baby still got sore nuts? I did kick you pretty hard."

Brief didn't give her the dignity of a reply, but he was beginning to wish he had gone with Stocking and just left Panty to deal with this herself. Obviously if she could taunt him during a _fucking ghost tornado,_ she could manage just fine.

On the other hand, Brief l-.. li.. well, he kind of liked hearing her voice again. And that was pathetic. It made him hate himself, if only just a little. He had loved her for a long time. It seemed weirdly natural that he would find himself missing her abuse. Brief must had thought about it too much, because he missed a parry and a ghost got him. She had long nails, and he felt the bitter sting of them as they cut across his face.

Stumbling back, he heard Panty swear and the quick fire of her gun would have been louder if not for the sound-sucking ghost-nado. He was surprised, however, by the hand that gripped his shoulder.

"Dammit! Shit, you gotta keep on your toes!"

"Kind of hard to concentrate when you – "

"Shut up!"

There wasn't much time to dwell on it, and instead they kept on fighting, back to back, covering one another's blind spots. Brief could feel the ache in his cheek, the flesh torn and bleeding hot against his skin.

Stocking had finally made it outside, and had to stare at their incredible church. It looked like there was a storm raging inside, shaking the bricks to their core. It wasn't so far from the truth. She had coated one of her swords in oil, and now recited the prayer as she sprinkled water along the land, dragging her sword into the earth as she walked. It had to be a perfect circle, with no breaks or abrasions. A constant pace. Stocking had to keep repeating the prayer, and tried to let it become a routine, a rhythm. But her eyes kept straying to the church.

Inside, Brief was quickly tiring. He could invent useful gadgets, and decently weird his spear because he had been in fencing lessons once upon a time ago. But he wasn't very athletic. Panty was breathing heavy beside him as well, though she had been fighting longer than he.

"Would've been nice," she wheezed, dragging him along as they rolled and dodged a few dive-bombing ghosts, "if you had more than ONE of those purity balls."

"It's a prototype," he gasped, the sweat on his brow trickling into his wound and stinging. "I didn't even know if it would work."

"You have more faith than I do," Panty snorted. Brief stabbed a ghost through as she finished it off. The pace of the fight was tiring, but Brief had to admit he was actually too out of breath to even care about he and Panty's fight anymore. It made talking to her much easier.

"You're an angel," Brief said, smiling and then wincing as it pulled at his cheek. A cheek wound was a very inconvenient wound. "Aren't you made of faith?"

Panty snorted, and he could have sworn her eyes were actually a little fond. "You're such a kid."

Stocking was about a quarter of the way around the church, feet moving steady and breath moving through her body at the same rate. She could hear the rush and whoosh of ghosts inside the building, and it made her nervous. They were still very occupied, so Panty and Brief must still be alive and distracting. It wouldn't be long before Stocking was discovered.

One foot in front of the other, Stocking walked. One strike in front of the next, Brief fended. One shot before the one after, Panty shot. Two were getting slower, one was fighting to get faster, and the ghosts were ever constant. The fighting got dirtier, more desperate, as the ghosts began to feel the church seals awakening again. Contrary to everyone's assumptions, the ghosts did not flee the premises, or search for Stocking. Instead, they just got more inventive.

It wasn't long before furniture started flying at them, and when Panty was struck in the face with a giant-ass fridge, she realized the ghosts were really, really going to kill them. Mentally, she willed Stocking to hurry. Brief didn't have much left, and if he faltered, Panty would have to deal with this shit all by herself.

Stocking wasn't sure whether to be relieved or worried when nothing came for her. Past the halfway mark now, she kept walking in her wide arc. She was on the right trajectory, but she still had to move so slow, sprinkle the water, recite the prayer. If she lost even an ounce of her balance or cadence, she would have to start over. And she knew Brief and Panty would not live through this much longer.

Brief had taken to tumbling and deflecting now, too tired and winded to do anything else. He was dusted with debris, but his jumpsuit kept his skin from getting cut by all the sharp edges on the floor. They had to avoid falling into the foundation where the floor was missing, and had to be aware of the ceiling. It was all starting to cave in on them. They had all but lost their hearing from the insane sound of contained air, stirred and frothing from the dead. Panty could see Brief's ears were bleeding.

Stocking could see the end in sight as she moved, could see the start to her circle. She had but maybe twenty steps to go before she was finished. If they could only last that long-… please let them last that long. They couldn't be dead. They just couldn't. She would feel it.

The ghosts could feel it too – their ends were drawing closer and closer, and rather try to save their undead lives by escape, they instead settled on taking one of the living for their own. Better the angel, who irked them by merely breathing her light (as slutty as it was) into the world. They gathered, a directed wind blowing Brief back off his heels and onto the floor. His spear went flying, rolling, and so did he. By the time he was pushing up with his elbows, he could see Panty was cornered.

Stocking had ten steps left.

They say the world slows down when something important is happening, but to Brief it felt just as fast as everything always is. He couldn't hear anything over the roaring whistle in his ears, his vision tunneling as he watched Panty's gun get wrenched from her hands by the gusts, even as she tried to kill what she could in the meantime.

Eight steps.

Brief surged to his feet. Panty had done him wrong, and perhaps he had done her the same more than he realized. But no matter what happened, Brief wouldn't let it end like this. Panty was an angel – as far as he knew, that didn't mean she was immortal. He wasn't either. He wouldn't let her die like this. There was no time to look for his spear. Brief ran for her.

Five steps.

Her eyes were wide, blonde hair rife with bits of wood and paper. She was sitting in her sweatpants and her tank, looking lost as a child might. A brunt of wind tried to take him off his feet, but Brief bent low and kept sprinting against the gale. He needed to do this. Stocking would never forgive him if something happened to her. He would never forgive himself.

Three steps.

Brief called to her, reaching. The ghosts swarmed. He felt pressure touch his thighs, pain explode in a prickly star on the back of his neck.

Two.

Panty's hand was suddenly in his, and he pulled her close against him, trying to shield her. But he was only human, just flesh. Flesh that can tear, rip, wrinkle, and concuss. Brief felt his feet leave the ground.

One.

Stocking felt the ripple of the earth as the circle connected, sending out a wave of holy air that all but imploded every ghost from the inside out. There was an abrupt silence as the howling winds finally ceased, and then a violent clattering of various things dropping to the ground. Without the momentum of the storm, they were all sagging, crashing, thudding. Stocking's heart leapt to her throat as she darted into the church, and found nothing but wreckage.

"Panty!" she yelled, immediately listening for her sister. They had been in tight spots before, but nothing that felt as grave as this did. The creaking silence, grainy from shifting rubble, answered her. "Panty!"

Stocking began to advance, looking up and down and around for any sign of life. It wasn't until she stepped on something fleshy that she felt any measure of relief. That fleshy something cursed at her, slapping at her ankle. One sister gripped and raised another, and Panty groaned from the ache of injuries.

"Fuck," she said softly, rubbing one of her shoulders. Panty was tough – both of them were – but getting tossed like a doll while a building caves in on you is no picnic. "We're replacing that damn circle thing regularly from now on. Ghost pest control is a _bitch._"

Stocking's heart began to calm upon hearing her sister speak as she did, and she put a hand to her chest as she drooped. She couldn't be that hurt if she was already complaining about nearly dying. The warm feeling didn't last long. Stocking's head snapped up, body suddenly pin straight.

"Brief."

Panty managed to look both cocky and pale at once. "He's around here somewhere, relax." The cool confidence of that statement both soothed and worried Stocking, and Panty could see the feelings war on her face.

"C'mon, we've put him through _way_ worse," she said, gently stretching out sore muscles and starting to poke around. "He's going to be fine, like always."

But nothing was _like always_ anymore, Stocking thought. Nothing was. What had once been foolhardy and ridiculous was now very grim and very stark. Fights they had fought were silly, were dependable, like Brief had been. Today's fight had shocked everyone, and it had been not contrived and not plotted. It was an act of extreme hate, born of rage, and it had ended as violently as it had begun. Stocking thought of this, adrenaline making her shaky as she poked around under boards and broken furniture.

Perhaps the search would have continued in silent, dogged optimism for while. Perhaps it would have, if they had not heard Chuck whine.

**A/N: Promise the next update won't be so damn slow LOL. At least not as slow as the last one. Thanks for reading, friends, weee~ *****floats away*******


	11. First Time

**A/N: Ayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy~ *waves around word document* Hot off the press, and chok full of angst and angel guilt. WOOO~**

**Also, warning – if you're not big on blood, wounds, and hurt/comfort stuff, beware of this chapter. And sad stuff too. IT'S EVERYWHERE. OOoooOoohhhh.** **I promise this has a happy ending, though. I wouldn't end this fic in sorrow!**

11. The First Time

Stocking could not remember ever hearing Chuck whine before. At least, not in her recent memory. For a dog thing that endured more abuse in a day than most creatures feel in a lifetime, Chuck was a tolerant motherfucker. So that meant if Chuck was whining, it was worse than they thought. Much worse.

Both girls picked their way across the rubble, climbing and sliding as the angles demanded and trying their best not to cause anything to shift. They could not yet determine where the whining was coming from, and neither of them wanted to accidently step on something warm and alive. It took maybe a minute of teetering and tip-toeing, but Stocking finally ran into evidence she had wished she hadn't found.

Ducking under the lip of a wood slab, she found a ghostly-white hand peeking out from under a pile of rubble. It was streaked with blood, fingers gently curled in a naturally unnatural position. Chuck was a foot away, standing vigil at the tuft of orange hair visible through cracks in the wood and debris. Stocking began clearing the area immediately, hefting away the huge pieces and throwing them as far as she could, panting, shaking.

Panty had to dodge a few of the projectiles, but didn't dare complain. She could smell the blood, sense the pain of this fragile human being, from where she stood just yards away. Slowly, she approached. Stocking was frenzied, digging as though the world depended on it. Part of her world did. Panty felt like she was interrupting at first, but seeing the patches of emerging flesh, flayed and dirty, her hands moved without thought.

Together, they dug him out. They shouldn't have.

The final attack from the ghosts – a killing blow meant for Panty – had torn him apart. Bones snapped, organs bruised and likely burst, skin split, body arranged in an awkward spread-eagle of defeat. A blade of wood the length of a child's arm had impaled him straight through the chest, pinning him down. The areas around his temples, his jaw, his wrists were all beginning to purple and swell. He had a slick of sweat along his forehead, his body cold and in shock from the injuries. His breath sounded wet as he sucked quick, gasping little pants. And the blood-… there was a steady leak from behind his head, his ears, from the many wounds spattered along his body. One of the lenses in his mirrored goggles had broke, revealing one green eye. It was open, and it was alive with pain.

Panty stared, her mind unable to connect the wounds to Brief's body. After enduring so much at their hands, she saw him just short of invincible. To see him like this-… the images did not reach her. She scrambled a few steps back, inexplicably frightened. Why her heart was beating so hard and fast, she could not say.

Stocking, on the other hand, was trying to smile. A shaky expression, but genuine. Tentatively, she took that blood-white hand in hers, trying to rub a little warmth into the cold, sticky fingers. Slowly, with an unfocused glaze, Brief's visible eye drifted to her. It took a few tries before he could steadily watch her face.

"Hey, hero," she said, voice whisper soft. The words unlatched the rest of her control, tears beginning to swell at the edges of her eyes. "You did so well."

Brief continued to watch her, and looking into his eyes, she could see he was fighting the agony. Adrenaline and shock had numbed some of it, though it was too much to hope he couldn't feel anything at all. He opened his mouth, and a glob of blood slipped over his lips and down the side of his pale face.

"St-… ock.." A breath snagged the wrong way, and he began to cough, sending white-hot bolts of pain all through him. Blood began surging all over, agitated by his movements. Stocking didn't know much about human anatomy, but it sounded like his chest was caving in. She cupped a hand over his mouth, just shy of touching.

"Shh, shh," she said. Still she smiled, even as tears broke the surface and slid down her face, warm and cold all at once. Any fool could see it was over. He had maybe minutes, if he was lucky. She would send him off with her bravery, with her smile. He deserved so much more, but there wasn't time.

Panty had removed herself from the scene, breathing hard and fast as she dialed Garterbelt's number. He would know what to do. He always knew what to do.

Brief's eye was getting fuzzy, so Stocking brushed soft fingers against his forehead to rouse him again. A sluggish blink. A dry tongue across his lips. ".. P.. Pan-.. ty?.." he asked.

At first, Stocking wasn't sure what he wanted. Would he prefer Panty sitting here with him, and not her? For his last moments, it was her sister he needed? Something must have crossed her face, because Brief squeezed her hand with a grimace and spoke again.

"…h-..hu-.. hurt?... y-.. yo.. both-.. oh-…" He carried off, the pain choking him off with another few shallow breaths. Stocking ran a feather-light thumb across his eyebrow, cupping his face. The smile was just barely there; it was too sad to keep it up, as hard as she was trying.

"No," she said. How he could ask about them here and now, inches from what had to be one of the more painful deaths to face, moved her to sob. "W-We're n.. not hurt, Brief."

Brief's eye observed her, trying to catch her in a lie. When it detected none, it closed in what must have been a distant, cool relief. And Stocking did not like the way his body gently sagged, tension leaving him. She rubbed her thumb over his eyebrow again.

"Brief?"

His eye opened again, just a little. Even though she could only see slivers of his face through all the dirt, debris, and blood, Stocking could see how very tired Brief was. For her, he roused himself and spoke once more, clearly and slowly, like this was the single most important thing he had ever told her.

"I… kept.. you safe…"

And that, more than anything else, washed him in a peace that only the dying can feel. Stocking shook her head, cradling his hand with both of hers and raising her voice. As an angel, she knew when a soul was moving on. There was a shift in the air – a sweet, soft tone that would ring like a tuning fork. Her eyes darted to Panty, who was looking at them with huge blue eyes. She could feel it too.

"Brief, stay awake," Stocking said, still keeping eye contact with Panty. His hand was shaking a little, pumped with adrenaline and stretched to its limit. His whole body was that way. When she looked back to his face, she noted the bleary cast to his eye again. "Don't fall asleep!"

Brief didn't speak again, his lips just barely parted as blood continued to trickle out in spurts when he breathed. It was getting slower, less regular, as if he had to remind himself to do it every so often. His eyelashes fluttered as he swallowed.

".. m' tired, Stocking.." The words were wet with blood, mumbled around pain. There was nothing anyone could do for him, and Stocking had never felt so useless. So young. Brief's hand twitched in hers, and she softened her grip as she watched him carefully, with effort and energy he didn't have, reach toward her face. She read his actions and leaned close, pressing his palm to her cheek. He could feel her tears.

Brief held her gaze, and then he smiled. It hurt her to see it. For a flashing second, he started to sit up and tighten the hand against her, but found he didn't have the strength to muscle through the pain of doing so. Stocking bent over him, trying to get closer. Is that what he wanted? What did he want?

It was abrupt.

The light in his eye blinked out, the air in his body growing stagnant as it left him. His lips grew lax, carrying only the barest hint of his sick, exhausted smirk. Stocking waited, frozen. Panty had finally gotten through to Garterbelt and was talking fast and quiet to him over the phone. It was already too late. There was nothing anyone could do, and there never had been.

Brief was dead.

Her tears just kept coming, pittering onto Brief's face and streaking through the stains of blood drying there. Stocking had forgotten all about the orb of purity Brief had given her, and its white bolts still arched around her. The electricity fizzled, sparking, casting light and shadow off Brief's body. It was the only light in this dark place; even the sky visible through the ceiling wasn't as bright as what Brief had built them.

He had been the brightest of them all, the purest. Stocking closed her eyes, and with her thumb, she eased his eye shut as well. She felt Panty's hand at her back, patting it, assuring everyone that Garterbelt was coming. He said to call 911, so that's what Panty had done. No one here had thought to contact an ambulance, Stocking thought, until they didn't need it.

In the darkness, Stocking could only shake her head, beginning to sob aloud. And her sobs grew only louder, broken, earnest, like a child's. Panty's hand grew still on Stocking's back, and she could feel the moment her sister realized Brief was no longer there. If anything, Garterbelt had likely run into him in heaven by now.

Panty fisted the material of Stocking's ripped, dirty blouse, sinking to her knees beside her. Chuck, who had never left, laid by Brief's head in silence. How long the three of them sat there, they did not know. Long enough for the glowing beams of electricity to flicker and die from lack of battery. Long enough for the jumbled, echoing confusion of paramedics and sirens to sweep through the disaster. Long enough to see Brief's body lifted and carried away. Long enough.

Stocking's hand slipped limply away from him as he was gathered, and only after she lost contact with him did she feel the energy to stand.

"No!" she yelled, lunging forward. "NO!"

Panty was shouting too, but Stocking wasn't listening enough to hear it. All she could hear was the rush of blood in her ears and the weak sound of his voice. _I kept you safe,_ he said. And they couldn't say the same to him.

Strong arms held her back, and she struggled as hard as she could to get away. Brief was getting loaded into the back of an ambulance, and he would be carted far away. They would likely never see him again. Not before he was burned or in the ground. Stocking's knees gave out, but she didn't fall. Garterbelt's voice boomed through the wreckage the church.

"Calm the fuck down! Calm the _fuck down!"_ he was saying. Stocking couldn't seem to catch her breath, eyes stinging and nose running. She looked to her left at Panty who had stilled, head down, fists clenched. He held them steady with his strong grip until the sirens faded, then pushed them forward.

"You two are the shittiest angels, I swear…" His voice was a growl, but there wasn't a lot of momentum behind it. Garterbelt knew the passage of time better than most. People came and went, lives fleeting and delicate. But to die young and full of hope was a despairing death indeed. Garterbelt cupped his hands together behind his back.

"What happened here ain't nobody's fault," he said, and he seemed to mean it. "He died with memories in his head and a damn strong heart in his chest. The purity of our church took him home, you two. Nothin' to cry about."

Stocking stared down at the patches of blood where Brief's body had been. The day she and her sister returned to heaven, maybe they would see him again; there was always that possibility. Heaven was, after all, just another plane of existence. She blinked once, feeling fresh tears still slip down. It seemed silly to cry now, but she couldn't stop. Panty let out a trembling breath.

Garterbelt looked between the two of them and heaved a sigh. "Don't you tell me you're gonna cry crocodile tears about this, you hookers. He's an elevator ride away, for shit's sake! If you two would get off your asses and _do your fucking jobs_, you'd see him in no time."

Both the sisters stiffened, feeling a haze of shame for being so affected by a mortal life. An angel was not supposed to grow fond of humans, especially not while on leave for probation. It was disrespectful, irresponsible-… The Anarchy sisters usually were those things, but they didn't fuck around when it came down to the wire.

They had bonded too closely with a human being, and it cost him his life. Images of Brief – happy, curious, determined, nervous, from the moment they met to the last – passed over Stocking. She put a hand over her forehead.

"He was a fucking idiot," Panty muttered beside her. The tone was indecipherable. "Even at the end."

They all fell into a silence, the four of them. Garterbelt was the first to leave, and said no more on the subject as he did so. As much as he was chastising the sisters for making a fuss, Stocking would bet her swords he was just as upset. Panty, who had never been emotionally competent, drifted away with a swagger meant to be more confident than it was. Chuck stayed, patient and quiet. Stocking did too.

Was it so wrong, to have wanted time with him? Hell, they were on a date just hours ago. Only hours ago. It didn't seem real. This was a day far away from all the others, isolated by impossibility and anguish. It was a day she wouldn't forget, and she still wasn't sure why.

She shouldn't be haunted by the fading light in his eyes, the faint grip of his cold hand. The ghost of his smile. _People change_, she had told him so many months ago. _Angels are people_. His reply had not stirred her then, but now?

She'd be a fool to say she was the same. Stocking sat down on a mound of wreckage and hugged her knees to her chest, looking out over the wood, furniture, and scrap. While she was finished crying, she couldn't say she was "over it." Was this grief? Was this fondness? Whatever it was, she never wanted to feel it again, even though she knew she would be feeling it for a long, long time yet.

* * *

><p>Brief woke up.<p>

His eyes opened, and suddenly he was very alert. The cling of sleep did not follow him, and there was almost nothing to suggest he had fallen asleep in the first place. In fact, it felt more like he had closed his eyes for a little while and then opened them again. Weird. He was laying on his back, staring up at a clear view of a dove-grey sky, without any clear recognition of how he had gotten there.

He remembered the date with Stocking, the battle in the church, and final stand-off that led him to block for Panty... but the rest wasn't forthcoming. What was more alarming was that Brief could not find it in himself to be alarmed. An unnatural calm had settled over him, warm like a blanket, and he did not question its presence. As Brief pushed himself up by his elbows and looked around, he noted that he wasn't even by the church anymore. He was laying in fresh snow at the top of a hill overlooking a sturdy cabin in sparse woods. It felt straight out of poetry, and with a rush of joy, Brief realized that the cabin was his.

When he was very young, his father would take him hiking out in the mountains. Rich as his family was, there was a such thing as simple pleasures; cuddling up in their humble cabin happened to be one of them. Back then, he would read books by the fire, or play very old tapes on the cassette player while his parents cooked. He was happier then. This was before Mom died... when he could still sit on her lap and finger her shirtsleeves while she ran her hands through his hair. She had been the one who wanted the cabin in the first place. Brief did not think to question why he was here, or why he could not feel the cold.

He began to walk, then jog, and then sprint down the hill. His bare feet kicked up white, powdery snow high in the air, his breath coming out in opaque wisps. His momentum caught up to him halfway and he tripped, tumbling and rolling, laughing, remembering when Mom would push him unannounced down tiny slopes as a child and follow him soon after. After coming to a stop on his stomach, he lay in the snow panting for a long while. Usually these memories were painful, but now they came fast and soft, light in his heart.

He wasn't even surprised when she called to him.

"Briefers!"

On impulse, he turned his head. There she was. Mom. He had taken after his father in physical appearance, but his gentle spirit, creativity, and dogged enthusiasm came from her. She was slender, her dark red hair braided to one side in a hurry, resting on her shoulder. Her freckles stood out against her skin, pale from the cold, though her lips were as dark as they always were. Those green eyes - kind, curious - creasing in a smile that showed just slivers of her white teeth. She was in her favorite outfit: a baggy, lilac sweater, tight sweatpants, and legwarmers. She always did like 80s American fashion, for whatever reason.

"Mommy!" Brief called. It felt so natural, even though it shouldn't have been. Scrambling, he ran for her and crashed straight into her legs on the small wooden porch. It didn't occur to him until just this moment that he had shrunk in size. The last time he had hugged his mom, he was six years old. It felt right with her towering above, her arms deceptively strong and tight around his back, a single hand carding through his hair. He felt safe.

"You stayed out late, little man," she said. Brief kept his face buried in her skirts, smelling the cinnamon and pencil-led fragrance that followed her everywhere. He sighed.

"I missed you," he said, and didn't resist when she bent down with a grunt and hefted him up into her arms. Automatically his arms winded around her neck as if they belonged there, face pressed into her warm neck.

"And I, you, my darling." As much of an oddball his mother could be, she was raised an heiress and tended to speak that way, even in the most ridiculous of times. She was a woman of class, no matter the price of her home or how she was dressed. It was what his father fell in love with, Brief was sure.

There was a lapse in time, and Brief found himself sitting at the familiar, round table in the cabin's kitchenette. He could trace the divots and marks of his childhood on its surface, places where he had chipped a plate or bled paint through paper. Mom sat a bowl of miso soup in front of him (extra tofu, triangle-shaped, just like he liked it), and then sat down across from him. The soup tasted so much better than anything he had ever eaten.

He kicked his feet in the air under the table, slurping because his father wasn't around to snap at him for being sloppy. Brief could not seem to pull himself out of the moment, unable to feel baffled or worried or amazed. Just like a dream, it was impossible for it to feel strange. That kind of clarity only happened upon waking.

Mom was probably going to eat later, as she rarely ate at the same time Brief did. So instead, she busied herself in the den area, organizing some books on the expansive bookshelf. It took up almost an entire wall of the cabin. She was always reading something or another, and if Brief was lucky, she'd read it to him too.

"Where's Papa?" Brief asked, digging his spoon into his soup and trying to hook his feet on the chair across from him. He liked to pretend invisible people, like ghosts, sat in them and enjoyed moving them around with his legs.

"Papa's off to fight dragons," she said. Her voice was a little faint because she had her back to Brief while she organized the books, slotting them by color, not title. Brief shot up in his seat, getting his legs under him in a kneeling position.

"Where? Where is that? Why can't I go?"

"He had to leave while you were asleep last night. I'm surprised the clattering of his armor did not wake you, my dear." Here she paused to considered a bizarre shade of yellow, and set the novel aside for later evaluation.

"Can I go?" Brief asked, rising up on his knees and putting his palms on the table top. "I wanna go. I'm good at sword sp-.. spaear.. sp.." He struggled with the word, his little mouth working to pronounce it, and then just settled on something easier. "Sword fighting."

"You're not old enough, sweet," she said. Brief stood up in his chair because he could hear the shifting tone in her voice. The one that meant something really fun was about to happen. "But someday you will be. You will be tall and strong, just like Papa, and you will smite the wicked and save the innocent. You will find the power in yourself and in others. Your valor will shine so bright, even the darkest corners of the world will glow."

"Will I fly?" Brief asked desperately, jumping up and down on his chair and shaking the table meanwhile. Soup was sloshing all over the place. "I wanna fly!"

"Oh, you'll fly to the moon and back!" She twirled around, baggy sweater flapping, and then rushed into the kitchen just as Brief flung himself off the chair with arms outstretched. He fell into her arms, and she hugged him close so he could feel her laughter as much as hear it. "You'll assist the angels, my prince."

Angels.

Brief tensed with a sudden jolt of pain, as if an arrow had struck him right between the eyes. Given his new youth, he burst into tears on principle. Mom cradled him close, shushing him as she cupped the back of his head and quickly sat down on the loveseat, the books and dragons forgotten.

Angels. The flash of blonde hair against rubble. The smell of chocolate wafting from dark clothes. The crash and crack of wood, the heavy _bong_ of a church bell. It hurt so bad to think about it, each image or memory or whatever it was sending spikes of hot fury through every inch of him. Brief sobbed harder, clenching his teeth to keep the agony at bay.

"Wh-.. What's _happening?"_ he demanded. He gasped a moment afterward because he realized how deep his voice had suddenly become, which in turn caused him to sense how small his mother now seemed. Leaning back, trembling with ebbing pain, Brief felt a flash of panic. He was almost as big as his mom now... he was-.. was.. He was the age he should have been to begin with.

His mother did not seem at all surprised by this turn of events and instead reached to pet a soft hand down his cheek, smearing tears away. She looked so hopelessly sad.

"You're remembering, my dear," she said. Brief, still panting, still refusing to let go of her no matter how quickly everything was breaking apart. His perfect world, shattered.

"Remembering what?"

"Your death."


End file.
